


I Am the Only One

by saliache



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Female Fëanor, Gen, Unreliable Narrator, gender in Noldorin society
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 01:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6402754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saliache/pseuds/saliache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feanor will do whatever it takes to become her father's heir</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am the Only One

**Author's Note:**

> written for urloth

I am Fëanáre Curufinwë. I am my mother’s daughter.

I watched my father abandon Mother. She died, and will not come back. He lit his eye on the Vanya, Indis, and took her to wife. It is by all accounts, including theirs, a happy marriage. It is, by my account, betrayal.

I have a half-sister now. Her name is Findis. She straddles both Vanyarin and Ñoldorin culture, and is beloved by both. I will not admit it, but she is the younger sister Father always wanted for me. Excepting her Vanyarin-gold eyes, we could pass for full sisters, and she is thoughtful and intelligent, a true daughter of Finwë.

Her brother is another story. Ñolofinwë is everything I never hoped for in a brother. He schemes to take Father’s love from me, and even his own sister. I have seen it, in the disdain he gives to us when he thinks we are not looking, in his quiet little plots to paint himself the hero. He is a fool.

And he is to be Father’s heir, if he has his way.

I cannot allow that.

How long had it been since I last pulled my hair loose? It is long now, long enough to sit upon. It hangs in heavy waves over my shoulders, a true blue-black. I tear the fine strands of silver chain from it, tangling and pulling away threads of my hair in the process. That was Mother’s hairstyle, and it is Father who I must become now. Mother wore her hair as a tapestry; Father’s hangs in long braids to his feet. Ñolo wears his the same way, and already people whisper that it is to become the sole hairstyle of the Princes of the Ñoldor. The scions – sons – of the House of Finwë.

I look strange, wearing my father’s hair. It makes me look different. My forehead looks overlarge, and my nose strongly arched like the prow of a Telerin ship. My cheekbones jut out sharply, no longer shadowed by the hang of hair ornaments and tassels. I look thinner, hungrier. Angrier. People often praised my looks, and compared me to Mother favorably; now I know it for a lie. I have always taken after Father.

Dressing is different; my hair catches upon the many buttons and hooks and beaded embroideries before I am done, but I have to take it all off. I look like a girl trying on her father’s outsized clothing. Nothing hangs right.

No matter; I have formal robes aplenty, made to flatter my form. I have others, made in secret, that I wear to the forge. One of them is a bright orange-red, fitted and flared and entirely too tight in the chest. I will wear it anyways. I am more than the sum of my clothes.

It is with no little trepidation that I finally manage to leave my room. Few recognize me; one mistakes me for my father, which I find oddly soothing, and several mistake me for my half-brother, having raided my closet. The more fools, they. Let Ñolo think me a simpering princess, fit only for children and for playing at the forge. The fire of my brilliance will burn him in the end.

Father is holding court; he looks grave. Indis is there, at his side, a frown knotting her fine eyebrows. Findis has gone for the day, probably off to visit that Vanyar girl she cannot pull her mind off. Ñolo is present, and looks smug. He hides it well under a mask of concern, but I know it is there.

I take my place, seeking an audience with the King. Whispers follow me, filled with confusion and surprise and envy, and no small measure of lust. No matter. My turn is coming up.

Ñolo sees me first, but Father recognizes me before him. Indis is taken aback; but, coming as she is from the court of her sister Ingwë, she does not recognize the importance of what I am about to do.

Before the court and in front of witnesses aplenty, I claim my rightful place as my father’s firstborn and heir. I am his only child (by his first marriage). He has no heir yet (though Ñolo would claim my place). I am the wiliest and most politically adept of his children (though Indis is gravid with another, who may yet prove me wrong). I desire this (for many reasons). If I cannot have all of my father’s love, then I will prove myself the best of all his many children. (Indis will sire none like Míriel’s daughter.) He will never desire to live without me.

I can see the pain in his eyes. He did not want to see this come to pass. But it does not matter; I am Fëanáro Curufinwë. I am my father’s son.


End file.
